A Bad Call
by SigmaTheta
Summary: Daud and Billie have a professional disagreement, resolve it unprofessionally. (Billie/Daud. Pre-Dishonored 1. Prompts: defeat, uniform, mask.)


"I told you this wasn't a two person job! If you hadn't made us go in alone, it would have been fine."

Daud closed his eyes and breathed deeply, seeking patience. That the job had gone so poorly was bad enough, but now Lurk was there at his shoulder, arguing with him over whose fault it was. He normally appreciated her blunt honesty and willingness to question his decisions, but he was not quite as open to such criticism while they were fleeing the scene of a bungled assassination with every alarm in the city blaring at their backs. He opened his eyes and looked down, finding the street below them empty. He jumped from the roof and ducked into the dark alley nearby, Lurk at his heels, before responding. "You had the guard numbers and patrol routes wrong," he said, as calmly as could manage. "I made the call based on your report, which was inaccurate."

She made a frustrated noise behind him, a harsh exhale through the filter of her mask. "Fine, I know my information was bad, but I told you at the time I didn't trust the source very much. If we had backup like I told you we should, we still could have made it work."

"Unlikely," he muttered, though not quietly enough to be below Lurk's hearing. She started to argue again immediately, but Daud's attention had already shifted, his eyes catching sight of a flash of red at the other end of the alley, the tell-tale glimpse of an officer's uniform. He grabbed Lurk roughly around the waist, cutting her off, and shifted them quickly to a high balcony, out of sight.

She jerked away from him as soon as their feet touched the metal grating, and he could see her eyes flash with irritation even behind the dark glass lenses of her mask. A glance over her shoulder told him the apartment attached to the balcony had been abandoned for some time, the windows broken and the door swinging open with its lock forced. He pushed her into the building before she could hiss out an indignant complaint about being dragged along for the transversal like a know-nothing novice.

Inside, Lurk's anger faded enough for professionalism to reign briefly in its place. She did a quick inspection of the room, checking the far windows and the lock on the inside door, before returning to stand in front of him. "We're secure here. Should be a good place to wait out the worst of the watch's search," she reported briskly. Then she yanked off her mask and threw it hard at Daud, presumably because it was the only projectile she had that wouldn't explode on impact and kill them both. "We needed more men on this. It was a bad call."

He caught the mask after it hit his chest, and his fingers briefly twitched with the desire to throw it back, though that would easily be his most childish action since actual childhood. He dropped it on a nearby chair instead. "If you have a problem with the way I run things," he said, voice low with restrained anger, "you're welcome to walk away any time."

Lurk's answering grin was less an expression of amusement and more a baring of teeth. "We both know how that plays out. If I ever walk away, it'll be with all the other Whalers at my back and you growing cold on the ground."

His hand snapped out to grab her by the wrist, and he yanked her roughly forward and held her hand up between them. "And they'll fall in line so easily, will they? Follow you without the Outsider's mark giving you the power they crave? It takes more than simple discipline to hold together a group like this."

She sucked in a breath as she stumbled, and her eyes grew wide as she listened to him speak. She swallowed, and her tongue flicked briefly out of her mouth to wet her lips before her grin reappeared, perhaps a bit shakier than before. "Maybe that's how I'll catch his interest, slide a knife between the ribs of his favorite son." She brought her free hand up and jabbed two fingers demonstratively against his chest, perfectly positioned for a killing blow. "I could do it, and you'd never see me coming, old man."

He wanted to shake her then, tell her that she was better off without the Outsider's direct attention, that Daud had clearly not been anything like a _favorite son_ in some years – if such a being even had a concept of favoritism – and that he alternated between despair and relief over this knowledge on a daily basis. Instead he tightened his grip on her wrist and drew her even closer, growled, "You could certainly try it, Lurk."

Her hand on his chest curled into a fist, gathering a handful of his shirt underneath. Her eyes were dark as they flickered down and back up. She swallowed again, and with a muttered, "Damn it," she gripped his shirt and dragged him down, closing the small gap that remained between them with the demanding press of her mouth to his.

For an instant, Daud resisted, considering all the reasons this would be an ill-advised course of action – starting with Lurk being his second-in-command who had just, though admittedly not for the first time, threatened to kill him and ending with the fact that they were still currently fleeing from the city watch – but her teeth scraped over his bottom lip and her deft fingers worked their way downward, and resolve and logic promptly faded to the back of his thoughts. If she said they were secure here, then they were secure; all other problems could be dealt with later. He let go of her wrist and placed his hands on her hips, pushing until her back hit the wall behind her. He leaned his weight upon her and met the demands of her tongue and teeth with equal urgency.

Lurk was as impatient here as she was with most tasks, and her hands roved up and down, moving to shed their clothing as quickly as possible. It was a struggle – the Whaler uniform was meant for protection and silent movement, not ease of removal. Gloves and weapons belts fell easily enough to the floor, the thick red coats following soon after, but eventually, with a noise of frustration, she had to shove Daud back so she could reach down and yank at the buckles on her boots in order to get any further.

When she pulled him back again, his hands fell on the now bare skin of her thighs, and he took a moment to appreciate the way she shivered, whether from the contact or the sudden chill of being so uncovered during the Month of High Cold. He slid one hand between her legs, touching her with rough fingers, and that shudder became more pronounced.

With a groan, she reached out for him. She did not put nearly the same effort in with the rest of Daud's clothes, merely undoing the fasteners of his pants and shoving everything down and out of the way, and then she was pressed back against the wall again, one leg wrapped around his waist to urge him forward, his hands gripping her hips to better support her weight.

He breathed harshly against her neck as he moved inside her, that pleasure contrasting the pain of Lurk's nails gouging into his shoulders and the coarse surface of the wall behind her abrading his knuckles. He suddenly hoped she felt at least a little of that pain too, though his hands were taking the brunt of it – irritating, infuriating, incredible Billie Lurk, who impressed and enraged him in equal measures. He shifted one arm further around her and moved his freed hand back between her thighs, rubbing with quick, deliberate strokes.

Her breath hitched, and her nails somehow dug in even deeper. " _Fuck_ , Daud," she groaned into his ear, and before long she was clenching and shuddering around him, enough to send him tipping over the edge along with her.

After, leaning his forehead against the wall as he caught his breath, Billie's arms now draped loosely around his neck, Daud listened carefully to the sounds of the city drifting in through the broken windows. One alarm still blared off in the distance, barely audible over the general noise of Dunwall, but he could hear no marching troops or barked orders. It would be safe to move on from here soon. With a grunt of effort he pushed himself fully to his feet, hitched his pants back up, and stooped down to gather the rest of his uniform.

Above him, Billie let out a laugh. "If that happens every time a job goes south, I'll be tempted to screw up on purpose."

He snorted and shook his head. "I don't think it should become a habit."

"The botched assassination or the sex?"

He stood up and shot a half-hearted glare her way. "Either one."

She laughed again and began to gather her own clothes.

When she was done, Daud picked up the mask from the chair and handed it to her. "Let's get back home," he said. "We'll regroup with the others and decide on a new plan for this job, with more men this time."

Billie grinned. "Yes, sir."


End file.
